


The Strain: Another Season Episode 5 - Captives

by RosieBrookMeade



Series: The Strain: Another Season [5]
Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Best cunnilingus ever?, Blood Drinking, Chair Sex, F/M, Mirror Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stinger Sex, Tentacle Sex, Ugh I Feel Dirty Now, slight BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieBrookMeade/pseuds/RosieBrookMeade
Summary: Previously…an eighteen-year-old Sandra was captured by Eichhorst and has refused to be his scream queen. Instead, the daft cow told him to find another way to stimulate her. But let’s not get into any victim-blaming!I've added an extra chapter showing how the mirror scene would have gone if it were Dreverhaven instead of Eichhorst, as advised by a reader. As with the first hundred times I’ve used Dreverhaven, this is emphatically NOT that old fart that was cast on TV. (Why, Mr Cuse? Why not cast someone young and sexy?) Instead he’s a thirty-something, gorgeous but cruel version of my own imagining from the book’s description (raven-black hair, crystal-cold blue eyes, perverted – what’s not to like?)I know many people will be unable to get past the elderly gentleman who I think of as Rolf Steiner, so feel free to imagine Eichhorst doing these things. (Or anyone you like, for that matter.)Update: Now I've done an Eichhorsty version for Chapter 7.Also, it is clear I owe someone an apology. I am evidently all over the idea of a handsome Nazi vampire sexing up his captive…so long as it isn’t Eichhorst! (Update: Have done it and feel dirty.)





	1. This'll Teach Her

**Author's Note:**

> Last year I made the mistake of peeking online while season 2 was being shown on UK TV and I got a shocking and unwelcome spoiler about 2.11 Dead End. Off the back of the vague impression I got of the events of that episode, I had to rewrite much of Captives.  
> It had always been obvious to me (as I’m sure to all of you) how phallic the stinger was. I assumed they had been deliberately designed as mouth-cocks for extra shock factor.  
> But what could a strigoi get out of stinger sex? The stinger isn’t a sexual organ so how would they get pleasure from penetration? Surely only by drinking blood surging with the hormones of orgasm. This would rely on the strigoi creating as enjoyable an experience as possible for the human, thereby effectively precluding any form of rape or coercion.  
> This was not where I had wanted to go with Sandra and Eichhorst but I felt pushed into it in order to match the show’s stakes.  
> The other major issue for me was how would a strigoi independently realise this potential. Here, it is not the lack of a penis that poses the problem but the lack of testicles. Male sexual drive is a biological phenomenon, governed primarily by testosterone. I have some experience of the effect of castration on mammalian libido, having being paid to do it for much of my working life! Dead End could NOT have happened as it was written.  
> It’s actually quite easy to write a scenario where it could have occurred and maybe I will. You don’t need to spend the time and effort creating a Sandra, although by the time she’s finished with Eichhorst he will be a menace to all womankind and Dutch Velders in particular.  
> Particularly galling was the fact that the entire Sandra/Eichhorst dynamic falls apart in the face of an amorous Eichhorst. Can you imagine him pulling the “Funny, to long for desire when it never brought me any happiness,” line on Sandra? He’d have to fend her off with a whip and a chair!  
> I was never explicit on FFN because a. my much-mentioned CC "sex problem"; b. FFN didn’t have an MA rated section so I didn’t feel comfortable letting go and c. Stockholm syndrome and boredom only explain so much. On AO3 I have already begun seeding a fascination with vampire eroticism for the Sandra character and I will continue that in the rewrite.  
> The background for the plausibility of the following had been seeded in earlier episodes for other more innocent purposes.  
> Finally, these scenes are not gratuitous in themselves – they are necessary to set up other events, which in turn, lead to others and so on until the finale. But they could be purely about her blood and they would have been if not for 2.11.

* * *

East Berlin Autumn 1989

In the feeding dungeon, Sandra lies on her back, hands by her sides, still presumably trying to keep as much of her body in contact with the heated floor as possible.

No more fast food has been consumed and only an inch or two of water indicating that only an hour or so has passed.

The door creaks and Eichhorst enters as the naked vampire. That is to say no makeup, wig or prosthetics. He still wears a robe but nothing else, besides a triumphant "This'll teach her" smile.

Sandra reacts with a long, loud hissing gasp and a 'Dear God!' Scrambling to her feet, she presses her spine into the back corner in a much more appropriate terror reaction.

Eichhorst's smile widens.

Then Sandra stops, relaxes and takes a second, longer look. 'Eichhorst?' she says, unsure.

She walks towards him as his smile fades.

'It  _is_  you,' she says. Then she whispers to herself, 'It was all true then.'

She raises her right hand slowly to touch his face. It is not a lover's caress – it looks like she's going to put curious fingers in the internal nares.

But, now scowling, Eichhorst catches it, pulls the arm straight and with his index and thumb nails slices a centimetre wide ribbon of flesh from the inside of her right arm from pit to wrist.

She pulls back from the pain and stiffens. She makes a noise like a kind of reverse hiss through her teeth. It's the noise a paddling teenage boy makes as his testicles hit the English Channel but he doesn't want his mates to think he's a cissy – and especially doesn't want any watching teenage girls to think that. It's definitely not the agonised scream it should be.

She glares at him and he looks, first expectantly, then disappointed at her.

'It's not enough is it?' she says through gritted teeth.

Eichhorst looks frankly at her, puzzled.

He moves to make some more slices on her abdomen but Sandra extends an interrupting finger.

'Let me clarify our negotiating positions,' she says. 'Using a sexual analogy – there's "rape", which is what you want; there's "enthusiastic mistress", which is what I'm proposing…'

'And if I refuse to compromise?' He seems intrigued by the novelty of the situation. 'If I continue to force the issue - what do I get then?'

'Bored hooker,' she says tartly.

'Show me,' he says, almost amused.

'Ooh, role play…' says Sandra archly. 'I love it! But there'd better be steak in it for me.'

She puts all her weight through one hip and places a hand on it. 'Fillet as well – not boot leather.' she adds. Then, assuming an air of complete indifference, she affects to chew gum with her mouth open and looks Eichhorst up and down scornfully.

Grinning broadly, he takes the other arm and makes the same double slice. This time she's prepared and takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly.

'That'll cost ya double, pal,' she says in a totally different accent.

Eichhorst is fascinated and goes to reel her in with the winch. She sighs exaggeratedly, swaggers to the block and lies down - still chewing - and stares at the ceiling. He stays where he is and waits interestedly for a few seconds, to see what happens next.

She sighs again and tilts her head backwards to look at him. 'I'd get on with it if I were you, sunshine. You're payin' by the hour.'

Eichhorst depresses a lever and the chain is released. Sandra gets up and raises an eyebrow.

'That was fun,' Eichhorst says. 'And not your first time, I suspect. What does Enthusiastic Mistress offer that's better than that?'

'Oh, Eichhorst,' she teases. 'Did you lose your imagination when you lost your…humanity? Can you really think of nothing you can do with a willing partner that you couldn't with a victim?'

Eichhorst's demeanour flicks a switch and, instantly angry, he pulls her close and, grabbing her throat with a bloody hand, he lifts her in the air.

'Don't test me, you brazen …' he snarls, resorting to German for the necessary saltiness. 'You've no idea what I can do to you. I am not a nice man. And you're just a little girl - nothing like this has ever happened to you. I was three times your age before I even ascended. I've fought in wars – in trenches. I've done things you can't imagine – seen things  _I'd_  never imagined. And I have an imagination stretched by decades of Dreverhaven's company. You know about him? Yes, yes I can see that you do. The estimable A230385,' he says, smiling with nostalgia. 'He would have included every detail.' He shakes her like a doll and makes to throw her against the wall.

'Go ahead,' she says defiantly. 'Hurt me. Each time you cut, or bruise me, break my bones or tear my flesh there is blood loss. You'll soon run out.'

He pulls his hand back to strike her but she doesn't flinch. He pauses, thoughtful. 'I will soon run out,' he concedes and, dropping her back on her feet, he starts to lap up the excess blood from her arms, fangs retracted.

'You can do anything to me. That's right,  _anything_. I have an imagination too,' she pants, her eyes flickering to the stinger, working on her arm. 'And I will never fight you. Because I will not only let you – I'll join in. You're not the only freak in this room.' She raises her eyebrows for emphasis.

'Yes, I'm young,' she continues, warming to her subject. 'But I'm adventurous - and more experienced than you think. I've dated older men. And the last one opened my eyes to all kinds of dark pleasures. I love Corey but his tastes are a bit…traditional. It won't be cheating. He told me once I should do anything I can to survive.'

'You're right, nothing like this  _has_  ever happened to me before,' she continues. 'But, you know what, Mr Eichhorst? Nothing like me has ever happened to  _you._ '

Her breath quickens still further as she goes on. 'You can go out right now and find any number of  _victims_. But hasn't the taste of fear become a little boring?'

She pauses for effect. 'I will be a participant in  _all_  of it. Bring. It. On.'

She's so worked up by this point, that she goes to kiss him but he wheels away without noticing. He perches on the block with the attitude of a casting director at an audition and says, 'Elaborate.'

She walks slowly towards him, smiling. She places her foot on his shoulder and nods encouragingly. 'Fear is all that other vampires have ever tasted. You can be the first to experience something new.'

'Go slowly to start with though, please,' she adds. 'You're not ready for all of it.'

And, either because he's stunned by what she's suggesting or because she's asked instead of demanded, he tentatively strokes his stinger up her leg to drink from the femoral artery – much higher than before and she makes a sound he hasn't heard for more than forty years - a gasp of pleasure. He looks up at her, astonished. She is looking back at him from beneath half-closed eyelids, her head tilted back, lips slightly parted. She smiles a slow smile that says, 'Yes, I know fully what door I've opened and you won't have to drag me through it.'

As the stinger begins to draw, they each moan softly just once, his body jerking very slightly with the rhythm of the stinger, eyes closed.

After only a few seconds, she starts to sway and lose her balance. 'No. Stop,' she cries. When he doesn't cease immediately, she repeats, 'Stop it. Please!' urgently tapping the stinger.

He reluctantly disengages and she staggers away, very pale. The artery is still pumping away and she collapses. Eichhorst is there in an instant, putting pressure on the wounds and slicing his finger to push a bit of white inside.

He waits, with concern but not compassion, and she eventually regains consciousness.

She groans and smiles weakly. 'You'll have to learn some control before we take that any further.' 

* * *

 


	2. How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandra takes Setrakian to see a cardiologist and neuters a captured vampire. Nora and Eph discuss strigoi haematology and the successful development of two distinct anti-vamp chemical weapons. The slow-acting formulation makes Eph very thoughtful. Sandra administers some harvested White to Setrakian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on the The Strain: Another Season…  
> SETRAKIAN received news of the upcoming auction of a book called The Occido Lumen but was unable even to view the item at the auction house. His pursuit of new recruits has been abandoned as his focus turns towards the book, which he says must be acquired by any means.  
> Dutch discovered that ALEC FFINCH-MYLES, the enigmatic CEO of FinchCorp and FinchTV, is communicating with ELDRITCH PALMER but, convinced that he was an ally, she asked for his help.  
> Team Setrakian have rescued Neeva and the Luss children.  
> DUTCH AND FET have bonded but the relationship has hit a few bumps including her having to release a turned Nikki and experiencing a tense reunion with her mother. Who is none other than…  
> SANDRA EDWARDS - a gorgeous, politically-powerful blonde, inexplicably covered neck to ankle and lurking away from the light. She has been revealed as still human despite her stay with Eichhorst.  
> Sandra’s history with Corey Henke, a hot Nazi-hunter, has been explored. In 1989, as an engaged couple, they arrived in West Berlin where Abraham Setrakian taught them what he knows about strigoi in general and about two Nazis in particular – Eichhorst obviously and Dr Werner Dreverhaven who was even worse, apparently.  
> The young lovers attracted EICHHORST’S attention after a night on the town and he has abducted her. She has refused to play his scream queen, telling him to find another way to stimulate her. Could she actually be attracted to him? Certainly HE cannot desire HER.  
> A squad of cops have united under Captain Bartoli as the Force and patrol the outer boroughs at night. Manhattan seems largely unaffected by the plague (except for when Eichhorst is peckish, I suppose).  
> EPH is becoming more obsessed with Eldritch Palmer as the root of all his problems, especially the death of his now-strigoi wife.  
> Some mysterious silver tablets unearthed in the Zagros Mountains in 1508 have been purchased by a French-Jewish scholar in 1609.

* * *

Sweeting Clinic, Manhattan Present Day  
Dr Sweeting's Office

Setrakian and Sandra sit side-by-side facing the cardiologist over a desk.

'Good news, Mr Setrakian,' Dr Sweeting smiles. 'You have atrial fibrillation - which can be readily treated by a procedure known as transcatheter radiofrequency ablation. The success rate is extremely high and the risk of complications low.' He pauses for the gratitude and relief he usually experiences at this announcement.

The response is muted and the patient and his…friend sit patiently, waiting for the rest of the verdict. He continues. 'Basically, we pass a catheter into the affected atrium via a blood vessel in your groin, here…'

He points to a diagram on the wall and Sandra and Setrakian avoid each other's gaze uneasily.

'…Then we basically microwave the tiny area of cells that are conducting the extra impulses and the heart can begin beating normally again. This is a good diagnosis, sir.'

'How long will it take?' asks Setrakian.

'How soon can it be done?' asks Sandra.

'We can begin six hours after you last ate, it will take two to four hours and you can go home the next day,' smiles the doctor.

'What could have caused it?' asks Setrakian slowly.

'It is very common in a man of your age,' replies Sweeting. 'Although, I must say you're in remarkable shape otherwise, considering your years.'

Setrakian grunts. 'I have angina too, doctor,' he says. 'Could the two be connected?'

'Yes,' he confirms. 'Angina is caused by narrowing or blockage in one or more of your coronary arteries, preventing the heart muscle getting all the blood it needs. Over time this could also damage your mitral valve, here…' more diagram pointing, '…which leads to an enlargement of your atrial chamber, in turn damaging one area of the heart muscle and causing it to conduct the chaotic rhythm you feel during a fibrillation episode.'

Setrakian nods as if he expected this.

'If you like, we can carry out an angiogram first and see if this is the case.' continues the doctor. 'If it is, we can correct it with a coronary angioplasty there and then. This is also a safe and effective procedure but you would need to return at a later date for the ablation.

'I want them done at the same time,' says Setrakian.

'Professor!' protests Sandra.

'I really wouldn't advise it sir,' says Sweeting.

'I insist,' says Setrakian doggedly, as much to Sandra as to the doctor.

'Is it possible?' asks Sandra.

'Yes, but it increases the risks and recovery time.'

'It's settled then,' says Setrakian standing up. 'See you in a couple of hours.'

* * *

Cath lab, Sweeting clinic, Later that day

Setrakian is sitting in the prep area, wearing a hospital smock. He's uncomfortable, tucking it in underneath him as far as possible. Sandra returns from the corridor, smiling in that reassuring way that only makes the recipient more anxious.

While the nurse expertly places a line, Sandra whispers, 'I've sent more supplies and equipment to our friends, along with strict instructions of how to deal with any trapped vermin.'

The nurse leaves and Sandra becomes more explicit. 'It won't be able to see or hear its captors or locate itself. I've sent caging materials and told Fet not to let Cornelia out of his sight. So I can stay with you.'

'I don't want you watching this,' says Setrakian firmly.

'God, no,' recoils Sandra. 'I don't want to watch either. I don't think they'll let me in anyway – it's a sterile procedure.'

The nurse returns. 'Time to shave you, Mr Setrakian,' she says briskly.

'I'll be there when you wake up,' says Sandra with a squeeze of his twisted fingers.

* * *

Later that day

Setrakian lies unconscious, webbed in wires and tubes. Sandra has been as good as her word. She sits patiently by his bedside. When he murmurs, 'Miriam,' and opens his eyes, he focuses on blue-green rather than chocolate brown.

'Both procedures were successful,' she says. 'You can go home tomorrow.'

After a while, he struggles upright.

'But not before,' she adds sternly. 'I shall be on guard throughout the night.

'Your circadian rhythms were disturbed during your time in Berlin,' states Setrakian.

Sandra smiles grimly. 'And vamp-lag is much harder to shake than jet lag. I don't sleep much at all, nowadays.'

'I seem to get by on much less myself, the last decade or so,' he muses.

There's a long silence.

'Professor,' says Sandra. 'Why didn't you stay and help Corey search for me?'

He sighs.

'It's not an accusation,' she corrects. 'I know you had a good reason. I'd just like to know what it was.'

'I did join him to start with,' he says. 'I was his guide and I warned him that you would return to turn your loved one. My hope dwindled as the days went past with no sign of you, and then I started to feel these irregular heartbeats. I put it down to anxiety and pushed onwards but one day I collapsed and was taken to hospital. When I was able to discharge myself, I couldn't find Corey anywhere. I reported you missing and left my contact details at your hotel but I'd given you both up as lost. I am sorry.'

Sandra shushes him and kisses the hand she's holding. 'There's nothing to apologise for, Professor,' she says. 'If you hadn't taught me all about  _strigoi_ , I wouldn't be alive today and neither would Cornelia.'

* * *

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn Next day

Sandra brings Setrakian home to a warm welcome. That is to say, the old man is welcomed but she is not.

She settles him in bed and ensures he'll be looked after and prevented from getting up until the following day. Then she returns to the shop-front area downstairs.

It has been transformed, creating a laboratory on one side and a gym on the other. Fet's is bursting at the seams and they will need to relocate before any further recruiting can be attempted. Someone has built a vampire cage and Fet has caught an occupant. The vampire is a young adult of indeterminate sex. Dressed in jeans and a thick jumper, the creature's height and slender build can't pinpoint the gender that was so important to it in life and is so irrelevant now. The face doesn't help either as it is encased in a full-face helmet, the visor blacked out.

Sandra approaches the bound and shackled  _strigoi_ and demands Dutch leave the room and the creature's helmet be removed.

Dutch complains but does leave, although she doesn't go far and listens out of sight.

Fet is unsure, but obeys. There is thick wadding blindfolding it and blocking its hearing.

It's stinger flicks out to taste Sandra's scent and it lunges towards her, against its restraints. She arms herself with a sword, nods at Fet and says, 'Stay behind it and take the blindfold off.' Fet baulks but Sandra fixes him with the Dutch-eyed stare and he complies.

Sandra deftly evades the shrieking vampire's stinger and darts in to put out first one eye and then the other with the silver blade. She is clearly enjoying the creature's pain far too much.

Nora and Eph have stopped what they were doing and watch with disgust.

'Miss Edwards,' says Nora, reproachfully. 'Gabriel Bolivar turned my mother and I had to release her myself…'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' says Sandra but it's mechanical, not empathic.

'…and I wouldn't hesitate to kill him myself,' Nora continues. 'In fact, I'd seek it. But I have no desire to delay killing the Master purely so I can torture Bolivar. Why do you?'

Sandra has replaced the helmet on the  _strigoi_ but left the visor up. She nods for Fet to re-cage the beast and she puts her white gloves on.

Then she replies. 'Perhaps you acknowledge that Bolivar was an instrument of the Master rather than a Chosen with a will of his own. Blood, please.'

Eph passes her a pack labelled NM and a syringe. 'There's something else behind your hate,' he says.

Sandra doesn't respond and tempts the vampire with the blood. She catches the stinger just beneath the bifurcation and, this time blank-faced, she massages the shaft in such a way that the two men suddenly feel the need to be behind waist-high furniture.

'Did you have to do that to him?' taunts Eph sarcastically, obviously not really thinking that she did.

'They can't be pleasured like this,' says Sandra coldly.

'So you've tried?' asks Eph, incredulous.

Sandra doesn't answer but pulls the stinger out to its full extent and walks it towards Eph who cowers away from it. She squeezes some "saliva" and worms from one fang into a beaker. The  _strigoi_ is going berserk but she maintains her stony-faced grip.

'I'm neutering it for you,' she explains. 'But I need to know which channel is in and which is out.'

She pins the tip onto a cutting board and slices the "out" fang off with her sword. Then, freeing it a little, she takes a thin silver rod from a pocket and wrestles it down inside the "out" channel, wiggling it around to burn as much of the lumenal lining as she can.

'That's what Eichhorst has in store for him, isn't it?' says Fet.

'Maybe eventually,' says Sandra. She's enjoying the vampire's suffering again.

She cauterises this wound with the silver blade and returns the stinger to the board. The "in" fang is removed with a scalpel and she pours the blood over it.

'Blood helps them heal,' she explains. 'If this channel is occluded, it won't be able to drink and it'll be of no use to you.'

'It'll die?' asks Nora.

'No, it'll "cave",' says Sandra. 'Starve, shrivel and weaken but not die.'

'Is that in Eichhorst's future, too?' says Dutch disgustedly, making her mother drop the stinger and whip round. 'Cornelia,' cries Sandra, embarrassed.

The strigoi sucks its mutilated stinger back into its mouth, as if cradling an injured limb.

Neeva pops her head round the door and, with her eyes shut against the horrors, yells, 'Food is ready!'

Dutch folds her arms, revolted and turns away. The others leave the lab/gym and Sandra is left alone. She pockets something from Nora's bench before joining them.

During the meal, Nora and Eph discuss their puzzling findings from the examination of the  _strigoi_  blood. They are so enthused that they finish each other's sentences.

'Once the worms were sifted out, we found the blood was sterile – the virus is only in the worms…'

'…And it's chock full of what appeared to be platelets and leucocytes…'

'…Mostly lymphocytes like natural killer cells and cytotoxic T-cells...'

'…Which makes them very resistant to superinfection with other pathogens, probably immune...'

'…But there are no erythrocytes…'

'…Which is why we think they need human blood – for the oxyhaemoglobin…

'…Hence the predilection for arterial feeding sites…'

'…There were no eosinophils…'

'…So no hypersensitivity reaction…'

'…And hardly any basophils…'

'…To mount an inflammatory response…'

'Once we analyse the saliva that you…harvested, we can see if that's similar,' says Nora.

'I bet it's not,' says Eph. 'I bet it's chemically and cytologically distinct. More like an anti-coagulant. It must be to allow for total exsanguinations…'

'…So there can't be any platelets in the saliva either.'

'If I understood any of that,' says Dutch. 'I'd probably be disgusted. But how are you getting on with the weapon?'

'Well, the silver emulsion is 100% lethal on its own,' says Nora. 'You don't really need all the other stuff.'

'So, for another weapon, we mixed all the antivirals together with Fenbendazole…' says Eph.

'That's the antiparasitic,' explains Nora.

'…And a touch of the silver emulsion,' says Eph. 'You don't need much.'

'But it didn't work,' says Fet, raining on the parade.

'Well, it did kill the worms  _in vitro_ , but very slowly,' says Eph. ' _In vivo_ a vampire would almost certainly be able to adapt to it…' His voice trails off but no one notices.

Sandra is suddenly interested. 'But it would still damage them, yes?' she asks. 'Cause pain without killing them outright.'

'You're  _NOT_  having any,' says Nora firmly. 'It's for wholesale destruction not one-on-one sadism.'

'For God's sake, Mum,' says Dutch, exasperated. 'What is your deal?'

'We're going to titrate the ratios and optimise the kill rate,' says Nora, trying to change the subject.

'And we'll have two new chemical weapons,' says Fet. 'I'm going to cannibalise a bug bomb and make a grenade, for an area effect, like the Z-man said. And the other can be loaded into water pistols, like Neeva used on me.'

Once Neeva has served everyone, she puts a bowl on a tray "for the invalid" as she puts it. Sandra stands up and takes it from her. As she carries it upstairs the tension eases noticeably but Eph is still silent – probably pondering the sub-lethal concoction.

* * *

Setrakian's bedroom

Sandra puts the tray down and perches on his bed.

'How are you doing, Professor?'

Before he can reply, she continues. 'I've got some pain medication here.'

She removes a 1 ml syringe from her pocket and, removing the needle, she squirts the contents into Setrakian's protesting mouth.

He struggles but, old and sick, he's no match for her. She quietens him with an Eichhorstian smile and a finger on his lips until he swallows.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the absence of any info other than from season 1 and the book trilogy, I made certain assumptions about strigoi biology/haematology. I am prepared to rewrite around the new stinger morphology (i.e. the central slurping channel between two fanged pedipalps). Perhaps it's not new but simply a more detailed, slowmo view of the business end than we received in season 1. However, I stand by the haematology as described by Nora and Eph in this chapter.   
> I can’t understand, in terms of simple science, why all vampire blood wouldn’t have restorative properties. I will accept that there is a hierarchical difference and that Eldritch's chronic multi-organ failure syndrome (whatever that is) wouId require White from an Ancient whereas a minion's blood would produce only a vague sense of wellbeing. Or, I could appreciate that only blood freely given by a strigoi with a will of its own (i.e. an Ancient, a Chosen or a Born) could heal. In which case, the white administered to Setrakian by Sandra in this chapter would do no good but also no harm and maybe have a placebo effect. I don't buy Setrakian's boiled-worms-in-the-eye method. I will expand if asked and I don't believe in a bio-weapon. I thought that strigoi blood WOULD be "biologically bullet-proof" or they would have caught human diseases over the millennia. Finally, if strigoi prefer arterial blood as per the books, Eichhorst's breakfast from 1.06 Occultation must have had his femoral artery wounds plugged by a potent coagulant or he would have spectacularly bled out in seconds all over the soundproofed walls, door and probably the ceiling. I know I certainly need it to work like this for the Eichhorst/Sandra thing. In case any Born fans are worried - their biology is different. I've seen Quinlan breathe so he can drink venous blood and that little modesty towel when Eph was treating him... That was hiding something MASSIVE, you mark my words.  
> I can see why the show’s producers needed to rewrite biology to accommodate the way Eldritch has developed but there’s no Coco in Another Season so Eldritch is still toeing the Master’s line (admittedly while constantly niggling at Eichhorst).


	3. Chaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setrakian remembers how he became a captive in 1989. Sandra makes plans to evacuate Dutch, Neeva and the kids and reveals some more about her past. Eph and Nora resume work on the chemical weapons and he tells first Nora, then Zack, his hopes for the slow-acting poison. Fet is adorable with Dutch. In 1989, Eichhorst gets a win in his new battle of wills with Sandra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest, the scene in Chaps gay bar is my absolute favourite. I got irrationally excited at the beginning of “Madness” when I saw young Setrakian head for a neon sign saying “Sin Bin” with a man singing “I Just Wanna Make Love To You” as background. So close…  
> I knew in my head it was going to be Rolf Steiner but in my heart I harboured hopes for a plot twist…

* * *

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn  
Setrakian's bedroom

'Nooo!' protests Setrakian in a hoarse whisper. 'That was  _strigoi_ blood!'

Sandra is horrified. 'You've tasted White before? When?'

'A long time ago.'

'Well then, you know that it heals you,' she says, briskly. 'Tell me you don't feel better already.'

'I've had it before but I thought it was poison…' his voice trails off. Then he whispers something. She only catches the words "Nazi" and "scum".

Sandra watches, curious to hear the story but half fearful of it.

Setrakian eyes come back from the past and he says, 'Without going into details…'

Sandra sighs with relief.

'…I was tracking the  _Lumen_  through various underground channels I shan't go into and I heard of it in Amsterdam in the hands of a shadowy book collector named Jan-Piet Blaak. I met with his broker in June 1989.'

'Just before you came to Berlin to see me and Corey,' Sandra gasps.

'Yes,' says Setrakian. 'I chose the summer solstice for obvious reasons. The broker arranged a rendezvous and gave a description of a well-dressed, grey-haired man with a German accent and a penetrating gaze.'

'Eichhorst,' breathes Sandra, horrified.

Setrakian doesn't notice and continues. 'That's when I knew it was a trap.'

'But you went anyway,' says Sandra.

'As would you,' says Setrakian, calmly. 'I was armed, having brought the sword cane across…'

'How?' asks Sandra.

'…As carry-on. I passed security by thinly lining the sheath with lead and welding it shut. It was a different world then – before 9/11. And once I arrived in the Netherlands…well, people like me can always find friendly silversmiths in Europe, simply by rolling up their sleeves.' He glances at the faint but still legible A230385 tattooed on his arm.

'It  _was_  a trap, of course,' he continues. 'There was no  _Lumen_  - he told me it had been destroyed - and I was tortured. That's when I was given the white blood and, along with other things, I believed it had caused the heart problems I suffered with for so long.' He shrugs and concludes. 'I escaped with my life and my cane. But it took me longer to recover - and to steel myself to leave the security of my adopted homeland - than I thought. Hence the first delay in meeting you.'

Sandra wells up. Here, at least, is suffering she can empathise with.

* * *

Amsterdam June 1989  
Outside "Chaps" gay bar

Setrakian triple-checks the address he's been given, in disbelief and trepidation. But he's determined and the sword cane gives him confidence.

He enters, keeping his gaze central to avoid catching anyone's eye. It's clear this is more than a bar. Oiled muscles are everywhere in the dim light but something about the set of Setrakian's jaw prevents him being approached. He asks at the bar for Eichhorst by name and description and is told to wait at a table.

The music is loud and proud - Madonna's  _Express Yourself_ is followed by Queen's  _I Want It All._ Then Setrakian is brought a drink and the song is changed to Natalie Cole's  _Miss You Like Crazy._

'From the gentleman at the end of the bar,' says the waiter. 'The song too – you're a lucky man.' And he winks conspiratorially.

Setrakian looks across to someone in the shadows. All he can see is some silver hair and then the sleeve of a sharp suit as the figure raises his glass in salute.

Setrakian rejects the drink and the waiter looks him up and down. 'You won't do any better without paying for it, my friend,' he admonishes.

When Setrakian looks back up, the figure has disappeared. Setrakian bravely goes to look for him but the only trace is a blood-red silk handkerchief embroidered with the monogram, THE. As he examines it, something falls to the ground. Picking it up, he sees that it's an SS  _totenkopf._  Too late, he realises that it's a badge with an unguarded pin. He's pricked his finger and, despite clutching desperately at the edge of the bar, his world goes fuzzy and he collapses into unnaturally strong, Savile Row-clad arms.

* * *

Fet's Place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Sandra comes down from the bedroom. 'Now,' she says purposefully. 'Why is everyone still here?'

They look back at her, confused.

'Mrs Aristil,' she addresses Neeva. 'That meal was superb and I'm sure everyone appreciates your free cleaning and childcare services but it's time you took the children to safety. I will send cars round at first light tomorrow to bring you to the Finch building. From there, you'll travel by helicopter to a USAF Base upstate where you will connect with a flight to London.'

'The entire journey - until you are safely over the Atlantic, of course - will take place in full daylight or within my high-security building,' she continues. 'The only exception being the very short time it will take you to make it from the underground car park to the lift. My security team will be waiting to protect you during this brief vulnerable period.'

'I don't trust you,' says Eph. 'Or your motives. Once my son is in your power what's to stop you handing him over to Palmer in exchange for your wicked way with Eichhorst.'

For a second Sandra is incensed but then she smiles. 'Cornelia will go with them,' she says, while Dutch fruitlessly tells her to fuck off. 'Look in my eyes, Dr Goodweather, if you don't believe I'd do anything to keep her safe.'

Eph does but can't hold her stare for long.

'Can I just go back a few seconds?' says Nora evenly. 'The Finch building,  _your_ high-security building,  _your_ security team?'

'Ohhh,' says Dutch, realisation dawning. 'You work for Alec ffinch-Myles.'

'You did keep telling us he was on our side,' says Fet.

Dutch harrumphs.

'I  _am_  Alec ffinch-Myles,' Sandra announces calmly into the stunned silence. 'Alexandra is my Christian name, but when I was young I didn't want everyone shortening it to a boy's name. Hence Sandra. Mills was my second married name. I tweaked it to Myles so that Cornelia wouldn't recognise it.'

'And ffinch?' asks Eph.

'I knew a girl called Georgina fforbes-Allen at school,' she shrugs flippantly. 'I was so jealous of that double f.'

'But how?' asks Fet. 'How'd you get your billions?'

'I told you,' says Dutch. 'My grandparents were rich.'

'Billions rich?' asks Fet.

'No,' says Sandra. 'And they weren't too pleased when I came back from Berlin - after disappearing for months - pregnant and married to an unemployed Jewish computer nerd. I was disinherited. I'll tell you the full story another time. I'm already late for a meeting. We have several big outside broadcasts coming up.

'Aren't you the only broadcasters in the city right now?' Nora points out.

'That's no excuse for sloppy journalism,' she smirks. 'I have a reputation to maintain.'

* * *

Eph and Nora return to the lab.

'I'm going to keep working on the slow-acting drug cocktail,' says Eph.

Nora looks at him. 'It's not a cure, Eph,' she cautions. 'It just kills vampire-worms slowly and inefficiently. Nothing has changed. There is still no cure for this disease and no hope for those turned. It's a fantasy.'

'No,' says Eph. 'I know that it can't be cured yet. But aren't you worried that we've given up too soon? I think, in time, this compound could be developed into a cure. Not an easy one, not an instant one and certainly not a painless one. Don't we owe it to humanity to try? I'm sure you won't let personal feelings stop you pursuing…'

'You are such a jerk,' interrupts Nora, fuming.

'I wasn't…'

'Yes you were,' she snaps, pulling off her gloves and flinging them on the bench. 'You were implying that I won't develop this mixture in case it brings your wife back to you.'

She storms out, Eph chasing.

When he catches up with her she rounds on him. 'I  _will_  keep working on it, you jackass.  _Once_  we've honed the second chemical weapon. And I'll keep it out of Edwards' reach. I don't trust her one bit.'

'Nor me,' Eph says emphatically. Then he thinks for a moment and calls his son. 'Zack, buddy, can you come help me tidy our room.'

Nora rolls her eyes at this lame excuse and returns to the lab.

Neeva calls Audrey and Keane to their room to pack some things.

* * *

Dutch and Fet are left behind. Dutch gets up after a few seconds of thoughtful silence and says, 'You don't think Mum's attractive do you?'

'Are you kidding me?' says Fet without thinking. 'She's gorgeous. Anyone can see that.'

Dutch's face says, " _wrong answer_ " but he doesn't notice.

Then he artlessly adds, 'But it's not your ninja kinda beautiful.'

'What?' she says, laughing.

'Well, y'know,' he says awkwardly, finding it difficult to express himself. 'I go around day after day and I can see you're a pretty girl and fun to be around and all but it doesn't like… hurt 'cos, well…you're just another pretty girl. Then one day, you look up at me from the computer and  _BAMM!_ ' he spears the table with a knife, making her jump. 'Stabbed straight through the heart. Outta nowhere. Like a ninja…'

He gets up and leaves as Dutch watches him, dumbfounded.

* * *

The Goodweather boys' bedroom

Zack looks round at the Spartan room. 'There's nothing to tidy up, Dad,' he says innocently.

'I need you to go with Dutch and the others,' Eph says without preamble. 'Just until things are more stable here,' he adds into Zack's protests.

'Zack, I think Nora and I have a chance at turning one of the mixes into a potential cure for Mom.'

Zack lights up at first but then suspects a ruse. 'You said there was no hope…'

'I know, buddy. But that was before we discovered the slower kill rate of the new solution. I can't promise anything but if the host body could adapt to a reduced viral load, it might begin to revert to human as the native default organism. It's a long shot at best and it's never going to be a blanket cure for all because the vampire form would resist strongly. I'll have to capture the Mom-vampire and force it into her in tiny quantities over a long period of time. I don't want you seeing what I'll have to do to your mother to keep dosing her.'

'England's a long way away, Dad,' says Zack.

He is clearly unenthusiastic about the move. But Eph is fired up and he grips Zack's shoulders hard, eyes gleaming.

'Don't you see, we could be a family again, Z.'

Zack shrugs and nods. 'Well, then. Whatever it takes to bring Mom back.' And he starts to pack.

Then he pauses. 'We need to stop Mr Setrakian using the magic book to destroy the Master, don't we, Dad? Like Dutch's mom wants… otherwise Mom will die at the same time.'

'Dammit,' says Eph. Then, 'Sorry Z. I can't believe we have to side with that crazy bitch. Sorry, sorry. But I don't understand what her game is. She's not telling us everything, I know that much.'

'Dad,' says Zack tentatively. 'Remember how you felt about Matt when he turned Mom? I think she's had longer to stew over it than us, that's all. And she looks at Dutch like you look at me sometimes, when you think I don't notice.'

Eph smiles and ruffles the boy's hair. 'How d'you get to be so wise, little man?'

'I take after Mom,' Zack says, making his father choke out a laugh.

He pulls his son close and kisses his hair. 'What will I do without you, buddy? I'll miss you so much.'

'I love you, Dad.'

'I love you too, son.'

* * *

The next morning, Richard and Karl show up with two armoured cars and two colleagues. They'll travel in convoy with a spare vehicle in case of breakdown. Sandra isn't with them. According to Richard, she can't face saying goodbye to Dutch again, so soon.

'You should keep  _your_  goodbyes brief,' adds Karl. 'We need to get going.'

'Traffic is bad everywhere,' explains Richard. 'There was trouble at the road blocks overnight.'

'There are road blocks?' says Nora.

'Miss ffinch-Myles persuaded Mayor Gomez to set up police bridge controls in the hours of darkness,' says Karl.

'That's all going to fall apart now that the new mayor's in Palmer's pocket,' says Eph.

'FinchTV carries out random live interviews with the police officers at the blockades,' says Richard.

'And the tunnels?' asks Setrakian, secretly pleased with his protégée's forethought.

'Miss ffinch-Myles monitors CCTV,' says Karl. 'And, if there are security breaches that aren't immediately responded to, she contacts the Chief of Police.'

'Is "contacts" British for "chews his balls off"?' asks Fet, shuddering.

Karl doesn't smile but says, 'Miss ffinch-Myles believes people behave better on camera.'

'She hasn't seen some of my Swedish movies,' mutters Fet under his breath.

Dutch comes downstairs with a small bag packed solely with weapons. She surprises Fet with a long kiss and whispers in his ear, 'It's not goodbye. I'll see them safely off in the helicopter and then I'm coming back. I've been working on something and I'm gonna see it through.'

* * *

East Berlin 1989  
The feeding room

Sandra is now lying on a mattress and pillow, both with waterproof covers. There is a similarly dressed duvet over the top of her. A chemical toilet sits in the far corner.

Eichhorst pushes through the creaky door, carrying a tray of food. There's a dress draped over one arm.

'I'm not ready,' the girl says weakly, crawling back under the covers.

'Not very enthusiastic,' chides Eichhorst.

He places the tray on the block and announces. 'Fillet steak. For a fine performance.'

He lays out the dress across his arms like a tailor showing off his wares. It's ankle length and looks almost Edwardian in style. Maria Von Croÿ would never have worn anything so dated and peasanty.

'Clothes,' he announces, proudly.

She looks up from the depths of her squeaky bed. 'That's not mine.'

'Clothes,' he repeats with more emphasis and pulls the duvet away, making her curl up in a ball.

'Put it on,' he commands.

She takes the hem and sniffs it. 'It's clean at least,' she acknowledges grudgingly.

She struggles to pull it over her head but is still too weak and falls back on the mattress.

Eichhorst sighs. 'Open wide,' he says briskly.

'I told you,' says Sandra petulantly. 'I'm not ready yet.'

'Your mouth,' he says wearily.

She does as bidden but watches him warily as he drops some more white blood on her tongue.

Her colour improves instantly and she gains strength to get dressed and appetite to attack the steak. She forgets all her boarding school etiquette and Eichhorst watches, half appreciative and half revolted.

'Is there something I've forgotten?' he asks when she finishes licking her fingers.

'The shower.'

'There isn't one down here,' he says. 'But I could hose you down.' He wrinkles his nose theatrically at the mess she's made of herself. However, with sure survival instinct, she has kept the dress relatively unscathed.

'A proper warm shower,' says Sandra resolutely. 'With soap and everything.'

'And everything?' he says archly. 'Well, if we time it carefully, we might manage it.'

Sandra grunts and lies back down facing the wall.

'Is there something  _you've_  forgotten?' he asks ominously.

She rolls on her back, looking up at the ceiling, thinking.

'The interview?' she suggests. 'It can wait until I'm better.'

A movement from Eichhorst catches her eye and she rolls back to face him. He is on one knee, holding out a small velvet-covered box in a darkly significant way. The engagement ring Corey gave her is sitting inside, accusing her with every glint and sparkle.

Eichhorst is having fun and not even trying to conceal his glee.

'I'm old-fashioned,' he shrugs for explanation and grins.

Sandra looks from the ring to Eichhorst several times. She is visibly trying to find an angle to play.

Finally, she leaps at him, flings her arms around his neck and rains kisses all over his face.

'Oh yes. Yes,' she gushes. 'I  _will_  marry you. We'll be together forever. Imagine that, darling - an eternity of each other. Won't that be wonderful?'

He throws her off, disgusted, and stands up, leaving the jewellery box on the floor.

After he dusts himself off and leaves, she examines the ring for a very long time. Then she whispers, 'I'm so sorry, my love,' puts the ring back on and falls back on the bed, sobbing.

She's very quiet but Eichhorst has  _strigoi_  hearing. He stands outside in the corridor and smiles. He has found her weakness.

* * *

Amsterdam June 1989

Setrakian recovers consciousness naked, gagged and bound to an operating table by wrists, ankles and neck.

Eichhorst's eyes are staring into his. Eichhorst's nose and hair tickle his face as his captor leans down and murmurs hotly in his ear.

* * *

 


	4. The One With The Shower Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1989, Eichhorst makes another “request” of Sandra and attempts to rationalise his conduct towards Setrakian in 1944. He watches while she takes a shower. Sandra complies with Eichhorst’s request but at a cost to her health that necessitates extraordinary measures on his part. In the present, Dutch, Zack, Neeva and the Luss’ make for Finch Towers on the first leg of their evacuation journey. Nora and an invigorated Setrakian begin to see each other in a new light. Eph pursues what he sees as a potential cure. In 1669, the Zagros silver tablets appear in court alongside their translator.

* * *

East Berlin - Autumn 1989  
Dungeon feeding room

Eichhorst enters, wearing a robe and partly made up. His prosthetic ears, nose and throat are on but the teeth, lenses and wig are not. Also, the make up for that part of the scalp that will be covered by said wig has obviously not been applied.

Sandra leaps up and runs to Eichhorst with every appearance of eagerness. She looks hard at his face. 'You've missed a bit,' she teases.

He slowly turns to face her and blinks his nictitating membranes.

Ignoring her flippancy, he announces, 'There is another experience that I have been unable to indulge in for more than forty years. Another pleasure that I can taste once again, vicariously, through your blood.'

'Oh…kay…' says Sandra warily. 'Will  _I_  like it?'

'I guarantee it,' he says. 'I believe we established that your enjoyment is, regrettably, fundamental to mine.'

She grins. 'Name it, then,' she says blithely.

I have acceded to all your previous requests bar two. Soon, you shall have your warm soapy shower. With everything. And, if you survive this night…'

'Which it is in your interest to see that I do,' she reminds him.

He nods. 'You shall have all those stories you were so eager to hear. In addition, I suspect you will have some further act-specific stipulations.'

Sandra looks intrigued. 'What is this act?'

'I want to get drunk,' he announces. 'What are your terms?'

Sandra frowns, confused. 'Can't you just dip your thing in a bucket of vodka or something?' she asks.

'No,' snaps Eichhorst. 'Terms. Quickly, now.'

'OK,' she says, thinking. 'First, I want the good stuff…'

'Naturally,' he says. 'I shall be able to taste it.'

'Then why did you give me all that crap to eat, to start with?' she asks, puzzled.

He sighs. 'I have kept many captives over the years. Others have attracted my notice - one in particular, long ago. I treated him well - like a friend or a…a pet. I fed him tasty food and spoke kindly to him. We talked of politics and religion and even our childhoods. I enjoyed his company and valued his artistry. But he was a prisoner and he began to think he meant more to me than that. He was so disappointed when I refused to save him. I shall never forget the way he looked at me - his pained, tragic eyes. I will never again allow my captives to delude themselves like that.'

He had been nostalgic but now he comes back to earth. 'Once you are of no further use to me you will be killed. Do not think otherwise.'

'You know what,' says Sandra. 'In amongst all the usual cruelty and arrogance, there was a tiny bit of humanity in that. Only a tiny bit, mind you - there's no need to look so insulted.'

He scowls at her.

'Don't worry about me, Eichhorst,' she continues. 'I hate you. And I know you don't care enough about me even for that. You may feed me what you wish to taste and never trouble what passes for your conscience.'

He gives her an odd look and then asks, 'Is that it? Is  _the good stuff_  the extent of your demands?'

'In a glass,' she adds, as if he'd never reminisced. 'The drink will have to be strong too, to work fast enough. Second, while I'm drinking you'll tell me why you want to do this.'

'The Wall is falling,' says Eichhorst baldly. 'It's too soon. Far too soon.' He raises his eyebrows. 'And we're in the basement of the Presidential Palace,' he adds.

'Wow!' exclaims Sandra. 'Wasn't expecting that. OK.'

She digests this information for a second then continues. 'And third, I think you'll have to almost drain me to get even slightly tipsy won't you?'

'Probably,' he shrugs.

'So you need to finish prettying yourself up.' She waves her hands to indicate his current appearance. 'And have a car ready to take me to a hospital.'

She takes a deep breath. 'And finally, since I'll be giving up my best chance of escape to date…' she says. 'We'll be revisiting the whole issue of my accommodation.'

He frowns but leaves without saying anything else.

* * *

Later Sandra is in a shower. It's quite luxurious but the curtain has been removed and Eichhorst, now looking fully human, is watching impassively.

She has a razor, which perhaps explains the vampire's vigilance.

Impassive or not, he is obviously making her wish for privacy. But the technique she employs to make him turn away shows that it's not because she feels uncomfortable…

She finishes shaving her legs and examines her shower gel. It is the same unperfumed brand from Corey's Maastricht apartment that she brought over on the ferry.

'How did you know?' she asks.

He rolls his eyes.

She grins. 'Right, yes. Of course, sorry.'

She begins lazily soaping herself and hams up a porn star - licking her lips, tossing her hair and moaning.

When she has the cleanest breasts in Berlin and still hasn't provoked a reaction beyond a terse "Don't flatter yourself", she starts with the, "Oh yeah, baby"s and "Mmm…you like that don't cha"s.

Eichhorst sighs and reaches a hand into the shower. He turns a knob. It must have been the thermostat because the steam stops and the screaming starts.

She flies out past him and snuggles into a robe, shivering and glaring.

He holds out his hand indicating her woolly tights/minidress ensemble from the night of her abduction. She confirms their cleanliness with a sniff and dresses quickly.

* * *

Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, Brooklyn, New York

Rather than take the obvious route through the Hugh L. Carey toll tunnel, the FinchCorp cars carrying Dutch, Neeva and Keane and Audrey Luss continue north to Brooklyn Bridge. For some reason, Sandra seems to prefer “over” to “under” when it comes to crossing water. The passengers are all silent, trapped in their own thoughts. There is indeed disruption over the bridge and long before they reach it, they are mired in traffic.

As the morning ticks away, the tension levels rise and Keane petulantly wants to know why the English lady didn't send a helicopter to Mr Fet's house.

'Miss ffinch-Myles decided not to draw attention to her connection to Professor Setrakian and his friends,' says Karl.

'We still have plenty of daylight left, sir,' reassures Richard.

* * *

Bowery, Chinatown, New York early afternoon

The cars are still stuck in traffic. Dutch and Richard wind their way between cabs, arms full of takeaway.

They get back in and hand out cartons.

'Good job we got jammed in this neighbourhood, eh kids,' she says brightly. 'And if we don't get moving soon, we're nearly within walking distance.'

Dutch leans past Neeva to give Keane his lunch and the older lady whispers in her ear, 'If it comes to that, you'll have to leave me here and take the children yourself.'

Beneath them, a Feeler clings upside down to the sewer ceiling, exactly like a spider. It cocks its head and sniffs. The car doors are open and Zack Goodweather's scent filters downwards. The vampire-child clicks excitedly and scampers off.

* * *

Union Square East, Manhattan

The afternoon is drawing on and everyone in the car is getting restless now. Dutch tries everyone's mobiles without success then her head pokes forward between Richard and Karl. 'What the hell is going on boys?' she asks, frustrated. The bodyguards look at each other and Karl gets out. He approaches a police patrol car and knocks on the window. There's a brief interchange and he returns to the others.

'The new mayor has ordered a quarantine for the entire city,' he explains. 'No vehicles are being allowed to leave, except on government or military business.'

'Which, of course, has worked better than any evacuation call,' sighs Dutch.

'Miss Dutch,' says Neeva anxiously. 'You  _must_  take the children onwards.'

'Hang on,' whines Keane. 'Can't your mom call someone and make this all go away?'

Dutch looks pointedly at Richard and Karl's radios to reinforce the suggestion.

They each try in turn but can't transmit at all. All they can receive is the audio for FinchTV's coverage of a news conference. Eldritch Palmer and the new mayor are announcing the quarantine along with a new financial rescue plan, funded exclusively by Stoneheart.

Dutch bolts out of the car and makes for a side street. She searches high up on walls and lampposts until she finds a blinking camera. 'Can you see what's happening, Mu…Mr ffinch-Myles? Get us out of here?' A suited arm turns her round.

* * *

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn  
Laboratory/Gym

Eph is working on his secret solution, now marked "Rx" for "prescription" to distinguish it from the chemical weapons marked with a skull and crossbones and "POISON". He is testing it on samples of  _strigoi_  blood. Judging by his expression, it is going very well.

Setrakian is walking on a treadmill. He strides out strongly, enjoying his health. He increases the speed to a gentle jog. And grins.

After a few more minutes, he heads upstairs to the shower.

Nora watches him fondly from the kitchen as she makes some coffee.

In the living room, Fet is examining the latest delivery from FinchCorp. Crates of grenade casings and realistic-looking water pistols - or rather water rifles and machine guns – are spread on the floor.

Nora slams down Eph's mug on the lab bench and carries two more up to the living room.

Eph watches the angry woman leave the laboratory and sighs. He looks down at the Petri dish on the bench and across at the caged  _strigoi_.

He injects a tiny quantity of Rx into a blood bag and feeds it to the creature by squirting it into the mutilated stinger. For a few seconds the vampire does nothing and then it begins hissing and convulsing, before folding up in a resentful heap in the far corner, nickering sorrowfully.

* * *

In the living room, Nora perches Fet's coffee on an empty crate and sits down opposite him.

'You're worried about her, aren't you?' she says, taking a sip.

He stops and looks at her.

'Her father was a Mossad agent, her Dad was the second best hacker the world's ever seen and her mother is the billionaire ice bitch from hell who somehow survived months of Eichhorst's "hospitality". If anyone's born to survive, it's Dutch.' he says firmly. Then he pauses and sighs. 'Yeah, 'course I'm worried.'

Setrakian comes down from the bathroom, humming. Nora leaps up.

'Would you like some tea, Mr Setrakian?' she asks.

'No thank you, my dear,' smiles Setrakian. 'But I'd love some coffee. I believe I'm allowed - now that I have a healthy heart.' He winks at her. She smiles back, and then her face falls. 'You shouldn't really have caffeine straight after a workout,' she warns.

Fet is watching them open-mouthed and he interjects, 'We got some decaff from the Luss', y'know.'

Nora thanks him for the reminder and runs lightly downstairs. Setrakian watches her go.

* * *

East Berlin 1989

Back in the feeding room, a freshly showered, collarless Sandra sits on a plastic chair sipping some really expensive old whisky.

'Whoa, this stuff's amazing,' Sandra says. She smirks at Eichhorst. 'Is this how I taste?'

'You are an immensely irritating and demanding young woman, Miss Edwards,' announces Eichhorst with a sigh. 'It's like running with Werner all over again. So much so that I can only assume you are descended from one of his many illicit spawn. Let me assure you - if you didn't taste very much better than that, you'd already be dead.'

She looks at him for a while, assessing. She takes another mouthful and whatever inhibitions she had begin to slip away.

'You miss him don't you?' she says.

'Dreverhaven?' he asks, puzzled.

'Your prisoner,' she says. 'The one whose company you enjoyed. It was Professor Setrakian, wasn't it?'

'Drink faster,' he snaps.

She starts to chug it and, very squiffy now, she says, 'I get under your skin too, don't I?'

Eichhorst is unsmiling and losing patience. 'Like a louse,' he bites out.

'Blurry chick,' she slurs indignantly, finishing the bottle. 'You call'n me budslucker - Thomas. Tommy Ike…Tommy tom tom.' Giggling, she clumsily flicks his fake nose and makes a noise, ' _Twaanngg!'_ Then she collapses untidily in his arms. Still stony-faced, he sighs an emphatic 'Finally!' and drinks.

* * *

West Berlin night of 09/10 November 1989

Around the corner from the best hospital in the city, Eichhorst's car draws unsteadily to a halt. Sandra is pale and unconscious on the back seat. He has removed the engagement ring.

Looking in the rear view mirror, he wipes some makeup from the edge of his lower eyelids, revealing a portion of red rims beneath. He takes a bottle of water from the door pocket and spills some into each eye.

Pulling out again, he murmurs a slightly slurred, 'And Action!'

The Merc is thrown around the corner at speed, tyres screaming, and pulls up in the ambulance bay. Eichhorst leaps out, a picture of frantic anxiety and easily picks up the lifeless girl. He carries her into the hospital yelling for help.

Concerned nurses flock to him and he spins his cover story…

Sandra is his daughter - the anglicised name being her late mother's fancy. Her boyfriend is a fan of those dreadful, erotic vampire novels. He's never liked the young man and tonight he came home from the office to find terrible screaming coming from his daughter's room. The sick, wicked boy ran down the stairs past him and fled into the night - he gives Corey's description to the police who interview him. Imagine his horror, when he raced into the bedroom to find his little girl unconscious, covered in blood with bite marks on her throat. He thinks she's been drinking – or been made to drink…What if that fiend forced himself on her? He believably freaks out for a bit before returning to the doting father persona.

'Please, please help her,' he begs convincingly. 'She's all I have left.' And he completely breaks down.

Sandra is taken straight through to a treatment room and a peripheral line swiftly placed. A colloidal plasma expander is given until her blood can be typed.

The doctor asks him, 'Do  _you_  know what your daughter's blood group is, sir? It would save us time.'

Eichhorst shakes his head innocently and the senior nurse reminds the doctor that supplies are low because of the disorder around the Wall - perhaps "Sir" would like to donate?

Eichhorst backs away, palms outwards, as the medical team cut off Sandra's tights, revealing the partially healed wound in her inguinal area. He evinces total shock at this violation of his poor baby and uses it as an excuse to run from the room.

Eichhorst lurks outside until the first unit is put up, the line fully open. Sandra remains unconscious and people in scrubs are still swarming about her barking clipped orders. He notes her type and sneaks down to the blood bank. A borrowed white coat and an air of authority get him there and back without interference. A refrigerated boxful is stashed in the boot of his car and then he gets back into character.

He waits devotedly by her bedside until she is declared out of danger. A specialist team reassures him that no sexual assault has taken place. The police lose interest when it becomes clear that this is no murder but rather a consensual sex game gone wrong. Plus, of course, the wall is down and they are busy with a whole city in chaos.

The panic subsides and he is left alone with a still-unconscious Sandra. He looks around, surreptitiously gives her a drop of his white blood and waits. By the time she begins to stir, the eastern sky is definitely more blue than black. If she regains her voice, she will certainly blow his cover. He gathers her up, along with the drip, and runs.

* * *

Berlin 10 November 1989

Sandra wakes in a large and beautiful bedroom. On a large and beautiful bed.

She is connected to a full blood bag up on the dripstand. One door is open, revealing an equally large and beautiful bathroom – even more so than the one in which she took her last shower. Another opens to a dressing room – it is neither small nor ugly. The last door is closed and there is a keycard reader on the inside. There are no windows.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, she can hear voices coming from the other side.

In the living area, Eichhorst has just courteously invited in a young blonde woman, apparently a prostitute. The girl looks around in appreciative awe and says, 'Oh, have I walked into a fairytale?' She moves to kiss her client but he gestures to the bedroom.

The girl spots Sandra and properly screams. She wheels on Eichhorst and is suddenly hostile.

'I don't know what sick kind of shit you've got going on here but…'

The rest is lost as Eichhorst is instantly behind her, restraining her with his hand over her mouth.

He smiles pleasantly at Sandra. 'A ménage?' he suggests. 'For when you're better.'

The girl struggles.

'No. No, you're right. For it to work for me, both of you would have to be into it too…'

The girl kicks out behind and connects with such force that she would have seriously discommoded any other potential suitor. Eichhorst just laughs.

'…And she really isn't, is she?'

He removes his hand for a second. 'Hearty screamer though,' he says, smiling at the girl admiringly. 'Will you scream...' he asks replacing his hand. '…Sandra? When you cry out.'

Sandra manages to croak out, 'You'll need ear plugs.' She weakly rolls over so she can't see what follows. But she can't avoid hearing it.

The girl screams and gurgles as Eichhorst drains her. Then he breaks her neck and drops her where she falls. He locks the door and heads to dressing room.

Some time later, he returns  _au naturel_  apart from a new robe.

He pulls a simple but beautifully made, white-oak coffin, full of soil, easily out from under the bed and puts it on top, next to Sandra. He takes the card key out of his pocket and shows it to her before placing it in the bottom of coffin. The robe falls and Sandra sees all of his nothing as he climbs into the coffin.

He lifts his head over the rim, enjoying her look of disgust. ‘I too need to recover from last night's excesses,' he grins. 'I hope you like your new living quarters. Breakfast is secured down the hall.' He bobs down into the coffin and then pops up again. 'Mine, not yours. Sweet dreams.'

When she thinks he's asleep, she struggles up and tries to escape but the door is locked fast of course. She looks at the coffin as if deciding whether it's worth the risk but pulls a face and turns away. She checks the dead girl for life and worms and, finding no signs of either, she puts her in respectful corpse pose (hands crossed over chest, eyes closed). She tries to pull her into the dressing room but collapses at her feet, the drip stand clattering on top of them.

When she wakes, she's back  _in_  the bed, with a fresh blood bag up. She's all alone. Eichhorst, the coffin and the dead girl are nowhere to be seen. She gets up carefully and pulls the dripstand to the door to try it but it's still locked.

* * *

Paris, France 1669

A very elderly man approaches King Louis XIV with a tribute.

'Your Most Christian majesty,' announces the courtier. 'May I present Rabbi Avigdor Levy of Metz.'

Levy staggers forwards under the weight of both his years and a great book, completely bound in silver.

He kneels and offers it up to the king with the words. 'From your humblest servant, sire. The  _Occido Lumen._ The only thing of its kind, like your most magnificent self. A first translation of the ancient holy tablets of Eden.'

Louis takes the book and examines it. If the tablets bewitched the men and women who beheld them, then the book itself almost possesses them. It certainly is a work of tremendous beauty – inside and out.

The old Rabbi is very proud and points to certain pages, apparently crammed with dull nonsense script. 'You should see it in sunlight, sire. That's when it really comes to life. Keep it safe, your majesty, I beseech you. Many will come after it but who better than you, sire, the mighty Sun King himself, to protect it.'

Louis glares at the Rabbi then barks imperiously at his guards, 'Throw him in jail. Bring me the tablets and destroy them in front of me. Burn his scholarly texts.'

He caresses the  _Lumen_ and his eyes burn with lust. 'It shall remain unique. It shall remain protected.' He gets up and leaves, still embracing the book.

Like its author, the  _Lumen_  is locked away - in Louis' personal treasure vault.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote my drinking scene in February 2015, way before 2.11 was shown on US TV let alone in the UK. It was a risk as the book trilogy stated that alcohol was prohibited after the Fall because it adversely affected the harvested human blood (and for its role in civil disobedience). I thought that, in freshly slurped blood from a live donor, it would probably have a similar but weaker effect on strigoi as it did on humans. It didn’t occur to me that Eichhorst might have tried to force booze down a human throat. Perhaps we can assume that, in the scene with Sandra, he wanted to get more than "relaxed". He wanted to get as drunk as possible as well as taste the pleasure of voluntary drinking. With a willing accomplice, more drink would go into the human stomach and less would be wasted down the front of Eichhorst's suit, up the human’s nose or down their trachea!


	5. The One With The Mirror Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1989, Sandra and Eichhorst discuss what she calls the “worm contraception” and other aspects of bodily control. In front of a mirror, Eichhorst shows Sandra exactly how controlled he can be. Later, he gives her a surprise.  
> In the present, the evacuees – Dutch, Neeva, Zack and the Luss children - make a break for the safety of Finch Towers as night falls. Eph gets impatient with “the cure” and the resultant setback, together with an extravagant announcement by Eldritch Palmer, send him off on the rampage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would be brutally edited in a rewrite. At least a scene and a half would get the chop. I think I posted Captives 3-5 and Osculation 1 all in the same night and corners definitely got cut. I’m not proud of this.

* * *

Berlin 1989/90

Sandra has a new bedroom. It is nowhere near as spacious or luxurious as Eichhorst's apartment but it has en suite facilities, a proper bed and a mirror.

Sandra is sitting cross-legged on the bed, a tray of food on her lap. She is tucking in with gusto. In between mouthfuls, she asks her host, 'So how do you manage it?'

Eichhorst raises an eyebrow.

'The worm contraception - drinking without turning?'

He sighs. 'The appendage has two parallel conduits. I simply don't allow the worms and anti-coagulant to escape their channel.'

'So it's a matter of control?' she paraphrases. 'Muscular control. Your higher thoughts override the natural procreative instinct.'

He nods, ever so slightly proud.

'Well, we have a problem there, don't we?'

He looks at her blankly.

'When I lose control, so might you,' she points out. 'Then you either don't disengage before I die or you forget to prevent the worms getting in. Either way, no more compliant…snacking for you and, well, no more anything for me.'

Before he can respond she asks another question that's been on her mind.

'The professor said all  _strigoi_  smell of ammonia because they crap where they eat. How come you don't?'

He seems curious. 'What do I smell of?'

She thinks. 'Dry cleaning fluid…' she says frankly, '…soil and, depending on the time of day, either expensive make-up or expensive make-up remover.'

He laughs dryly. 'How come you don't smell of faeces and urine?'

'I use the lavatory – or a bucket,' she adds sourly.

'So do I. I am an elevated eternal. Only the lower creatures foul themselves uncontrollably.'

'The Master does though, doesn't he? Do you think you are greater than him?'

He stands up affronted and angry. 'What the almighty Master does is up to him. He wouldn't consider controlling himself amongst humans any more than you would in the company of an insect.'

* * *

A side street off Union Square East, Manhattan

Dutch bolts out of the car and makes for a side street. She searches high up on walls and lampposts until she finds a blinking camera. 'Can you see what's happening, Mu…Mr ffinch-Myles? Get us out of here?' A suited arm turns her round.

Richard points to a television screen in a window showing the news conference. 'That's where she'll be,' he says. 'We won't be able to contact her.'

They decide to walk to FinchCorp HQ. On the way, Dutch hunts around for a payphone to call Fet. All the payphones she comes across have been mysteriously vandalised. She does find an abandoned police car though, closer to their destination and, discovering that _their_ radio frequency is transmitting, she tries to send a message to Bartoli.

The sun has just fallen as they apprehensively approach the Finch building. They head for the front entrance rather than the underground garage now that they are on foot. Everyone is armed and Neeva has kept up, or rather the group has kept to her much slower pace. She is struggling now though, breathing heavily and using her rifle as a crutch.

A squad of FinchCorp men patrol the street around the building but, unusually for Manhattan, there are no police to be seen.

Waves of  _strigoi_  appear out of tunnels and manhole covers and from every direction. They swiftly overwhelm the Finch boys and advance on the group. Dutch stiffens as she spots Eichhorst and a  _strigoi_  woman off to one side.

Kelly is completely bald and standing beside a man Zack's only ever seen on television, referred to as the Well-Dressed Man by the announcer and various different epithets by Mr Setrakian and the others. He doesn't recognise his mother at first. By the time he does, Dutch is firing at her and the man while she drags him away.

'Bring us the boy,' Eichhorst commands the horde as he ducks behind an abandoned car and pulls his companion down with him. 'Zack,' Kelly moans with longing.

* * *

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn late afternoon/early evening  
The laboratory

Eph has been left alone by a Nora who can't currently stand the sight of him. He's examining the latest post-dosing blood sample from the  _strigoi._ He is delighted by what he sees and tries the same dosing method with a little more Rx compound in the blood bag. This time, the creature refuses to drink and lashes out with the harmless stinger. Eph catches it and something about the way it looks, intrigues him. He pulls it out to its fullest extent but he can't get it to reach the bench where Sandra removed the fangs. He lets it go, getting really excited and impatient and attempts a different, more reckless, tack. He pulls the creature to the front of the cage and pumps fifty millilitres of the treated blood straight into its chest cavity. The vampire retreats hissing and twitching again, lashing out its stinger in fury. Eph watches the movements slow and stop and starts to get worried. He opens the cage and examines his subject. It is stone dead.

Eph goes bonkers, kicking the vampire corpse and yelling. He scribbles on the bottle label - changing the Rx symbol, then sweeps the microscope and blood samples off Nora's bench and howls in rage.

* * *

Upstairs in the living area, the others hear Eph banging around in the kitchen looking for booze. He curses Eldritch and Sandra for a while and then slams the outside door as he leaves.

'He's gone to find more alcohol,' says Nora wearily. 'I've seen it before. He must have had a setback with the solution.'

She, Setrakian and Fet stay upstairs, talking for a bit, then Fet gets hungry and goes down to the kitchen.

'Er… Nora! Pops!' he calls. 'I think he's a bit more steamed than you thought.'

A carving knife is stuck in the radio, splitting it almost in two.

'What did he hear?' asks Setrakian slowly as if he already knows the answer. He heads into the lab/gym.

Nora scampers upstairs and turns the television on. Rewinding it to approximately the right time, she sees Palmer and the Mayor announcing their rescue package and quarantine precautions.

Eldritch smiles proudly as he claims, 'I humbly declare that New York City can begin to look to the future under Mayor Neal's guidance and my provision. My fellow New Yorkers, we  _will_  see the end of these dark days soon –  _TOGETHER!_ '

Fet has followed her and they look at each other in shock. He swears and gallops back down to the lab where Setrakian is poking the dead  _strigoi_ with his cane.

'He has gone after Palmer, hasn't he?' says the old man.

There's more cursing from Fet and he grabs his coat and favourite weapons. Then, as an afterthought, he snatches up the bottle on the bench, now marked with a crude skull and crossbones, and stuffs it in his pocket. 'Can't hurt,' he shrugs at Setrakian.

The old man goes to follow him but Fet stops him. 'Stay with Nora, Pops. It'll be dark soon,' then he grins. 'Besides, the Doc took the van. I'm gonna have to "borrow" some transportation and the quarantine gridlock makes this beauty look really tempting, huh?' He straddles a gleaming motorbike, skilfully hotwires it and roars off into the evening.

Setrakian goes inside and picks up the burner phone that Gus gave him.

* * *

Berlin 1989/90  
Sandra's bedroom

Sandra and Eichhorst are standing in front of a mirror. He is close behind her, holding her tight against him, leering something into her ear. They are both apparently fully-clothed, she in her minidress (although no tights), he in the usual smart suit. They are both smiling wickedly. Whatever is happening, the  _con_  is not even slightly  _dub_.

He extends his stinger and trails it, once again, up the inside of her leg. This time, it isn't tentative but deliberate - and excruciatingly slow. When he is almost there, when she is not only quivering but almost weeping with anticipation, he removes the stinger and drinks very, very briefly from her throat. Even that tiny sip sets him trembling as well but he does manage to steel himself to disengage. He seals the wound with some white. She can't speak but looks at him in disbelief and mounting anger.

He leans in close again. 'Control,' he murmurs in her ear. 'You should learn some too.'

'Now,' he announces, 'I have things to do. And a period of solitude won't dampen your ardour, will it? Young and healthy as you are. You might even beg.'

He goes to leave but stops at the door.

'Oh yes,' he says touching his forehead theatrically. 'There's so much I have forgotten.'

He removes his belt and approaches. She sets her jaw and tilts her chin defiantly, obviously anticipating a blow. But he "only" fastens her hands behind her back.

'Or you might please yourself.' He smiles pleasantly. 'I'll be back to feed you tonight.'

She screams in frustration at his departing back. He turns back.

'No,' he points a scolding finger. He thinks for a moment and then shrugs. 'I liked you better when you couldn't speak, anyway.' He gags her with his handkerchief.

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. 'That won't do either - you might choke.'

He slowly, threateningly, removes his tie.

'I'd sew it up but I like to watch you eat.'

* * *

Sandra's bedroom Berlin 1989/90

Sandra is no longer bound or gagged. Either Eichhorst has shown a modicum of mercy or, more likely, she has bribed, wheedled and teased her way out of the restraints.

Eichhorst enters holding the Edwardian dress for another costume change. Sandra steps towards him and presents her neck.

He shakes his head and proffers the dress. She has learned to put it on without him needing to ask. She re-assumes the position. When he does nothing but watch, she silently puts a foot on the bed to offer up the femoral artery.

He shakes his head and smiles. 'I have had somewhere set up for us.'

Realisation dawns and she smiles too. 'Now I'm curious,' she admits.

'Who was she, Eichhorst?' she asks as they walk down the corridor. 'The girl in the dress.'

'Who do you think?' he says gnomically.

'Do I look like her?'

'It won't matter. The lights will be out.'

'You'll still be able to smell me.'

'Well, we'll just have to make the best of it, won't we?' he smiles. 'Besides I have no idea how she would smell to the enhanced senses of my current superior form. We perceive things so differently to you anim…' His attitude changes instantly to one of alert readiness. 'Did you hear that?' he asks but while she's still shaking her head in puzzlement, he bundles her back into her room and takes off down the hall.

* * *

Sandra's bedroom Berlin Early 1990

Eichhorst shows up wearing suit, make-up and a smug smile. He's carrying a suit bag. 'I have a surprise for you.'

'Other than the playroom?' Sandra teases.

He nods.

'A nice one?' she asks.

He inclines his head slightly. 'Partly.'

'Oooh!' she claps her hands in glee. 'You're taking me dancing.'

Eichhorst ignores her. 'But first...' and he's instantly behind her, buckling on the collar.

Sandra straightens slowly and regards Eichhorst out of the corner of her eye. 'Well,' she says. 'Exciting though this is...It had better not be the extent of the good bit.'

He takes a new dress out of the suit bag. It is lightweight and pink.

'It is freshly laundered,' he assures her.

She dresses without demur and he takes her arm, indicating the door to the corridor.

She stops and looks pointedly at her arm. She removes his hand and takes his arm,  _Pride and Prejudice_ -style, as they walk along the hall and down some stairs.

'I want you to know,' he says, 'I really do admire how you do that.'

'What?' she says sharply.

'Make it seem that a you're a partner in all this.' They take a few more steps. 'Rather than a resource.'

She turns quickly to respond but before she can, he gestures to a door and, pushing it open, says, 'In here.'

She stalks in haughtily and what she sees makes her freeze in horror.

She starts to move away from Eichhorst but before she takes a step he clicks the chain onto the collar and relentlessly pulls her across his chest and into a feeding posture.

She screams and begs for mercy and she is undoubtedly fighting to get away, no matter what she declared last autumn.

'No! Please don't! Let me go! Let me  _go_! PLEASE Eichhorst!  _NO! PLEASE!_ '

She is drained to unconsciousness.

* * *

 


	6. What If It Were Werner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter showing how the mirror scene would have gone if it were Dreverhaven instead of Eichhorst, as advised by a reader.

* * *

~~Sandra Edwards and Dr Werner Dreverhaven stood facing each other. She was expectant and he looked, unbelievably, a trifle nervous. He was holding a small tube of superglue, which she snatched from his hand, saying, ‘Let me do it.’ There was a glare-filled pause from him, prompting her to add, ‘Please, Herr Doktor.’ She knew she wasn’t going to get an invitation so she nodded encouragingly at him and smiled.~~

~~‘Go ahead,’ she prompted, but his lips remained firmly compressed. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ she taunted.~~

~~He snarled and thrust his stinger in her face, forcing her to catch the glistening muscle or have it thrash about her head. She wrestled it for a moment, trying to get a purchase on its slippery surface but she couldn’t restrain it sufficiently with one hand to allow her to perform the delicate task with the other. She turned her back to him and tucked the stinger under one arm. With both hands free, she recklessly removed the lid of the glue with her teeth and used the free hand to steady each pedipalp in turn and apply a tiny drop of adhesive to the fang aperture. She blew on the ends to speed up the drying process and watched delightedly as they quivered in her cool breath.~~

~~She stroked the stinger tentatively, feeling the corrugations on the organic surface move beneath her fingers. It was quite smooth otherwise…and hot like the rest of him. She gave it a squeeze, testing its hardness. The thickening at the bifurcation was solid but the rest of the length yielded to pressure.~~

~~Dreverhaven must have been able to detect her disappointment because he shortened the appendage rapidly, pulling her, still clinging onto the end, towards him. This had the effect of simultaneously increasing the diameter and turgidity of the organ dramatically.~~

~~She gave the end a grateful little kiss and released it for Dreverhaven to suck back into his mouth.~~

~~‘What was that for?’ He seemed genuinely perplexed by the gesture.~~

~~‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I suppose I thought the situation called for a bit of romance.’~~

~~‘Romance?!’ he scoffed.~~

~~‘Mm,’ she nodded. ‘Romance. You know, a touch of human passion.  Now give it a try…see if you can squirt the plugs out.’~~

~~Dreverhaven bundled her unceremoniously into the bathroom. There were shouts of protests and fist-hammerings but he didn’t want her to watch him massaging his stinger to see if the glue-plugs kept the worm-infested ejaculate inside. She could be so brazen about things. He felt instinctively that she should show more innocence and deference at that age. Even smutty little Eva would have been embarrassed by some of her utterances.~~

~~The glue held. The worm prophylaxis worked, at least in this setting. Whether it worked in-vivo was yet to be tried.~~

~~The noisy dissent from the bathroom had quickly subsided into what he thought was sullen silence but in fact, Sandra had been thinking.~~

~~‘When you enter me,’ she called out. ‘Take me like a man.’~~

~~‘What…you mean… anally?’ he replied, opening the door and looking at her in astonishment. ‘This is part of my mouth we’re talking about.’~~

~~‘No,’ she said. ‘Although…does that mean it’s off the table, then?’ She sounded deflated. ‘I’d heard such stories about continental men.’~~

~~‘Do your English boys not enjoy that? Huh, you’d think with the way they talk…Oh well…Not off the table but a negotiation for another time.’~~

~~She brightened instantly, making him reconsider the hitherto unconscionable.~~

~~‘No,’ she clarified. ‘I meant…the first time…don’t slither into me slowly like a snake, take me as if you were a man – with a thrust. And no fangs – at least not until I tell you.’ She grinned impishly.~~

~~There was more shocked silence from Dreverhaven. He’d dearly love to hurt her, wipe that smirk off her face and teach her something about the kind of man he used to be, but tonight he was going to be tasting _her_ pleasure and he needed to maximise her enjoyment of the experience.~~

~~She led him by the hand to the full-length mirror and then turned her back to him. He pulled her tight to him with one hand and began to unzip her dress with the other but she stopped him with a surprisingly soft little, ‘N-no, Werner.’~~

~~He looked a question at her through the mirror and she explained more boldly, but too rapidly, as if she didn’t trust her voice. ‘You’re dressed. I’m dressed.’~~

~~He looked puzzled again. ‘But, how...?’~~

~~She took his hands and guided them inside her skirt and up her thighs to her panties. Oh, right…Well, he could take it from here.~~

~~Sandra felt him hook a thumb inside each strap and gradually lower himself to his knees, taking the underwear with him. He waited, crouched close behind her for a time, his hair tickling the naked skin of her buttocks and his stinger making a fabulously bestial growling sound in his throat. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see what he was doing via the mirror, enjoying the feeling of vulnerability.~~

~~He could hear her increased heart rate - his cue to extend his stinger ever so slowly and make contact with her leg. He stood up, sliding his hands around her waist while the stinger end remained where it was. She leant against him. His muscular chest felt hot and firm against her body. He hadn’t retracted the stinger-fangs yet and they pricked and needled at the skin, threatening puncture but without drawing blood. He pushed the end of the drinking channel against her flesh and it sucked gently while the pedipalps wrapped themselves around her leg in a kind of hug.~~

~~Then he began to trail his stinger, maintaining the gentle suction on her skin, lazily up the inside of her leg. It seemed firmer now and she could feel the muscle pulsing with the soft sucking motion. Higher and higher he drew the stinger forcing her to spread her legs to accommodate its thickness until she was not only quivering but almost weeping with anticipation. Then the sense of it disappeared, making her cry out in frustration. Her eyes flew open and she glared at Dreverhaven, unable to articulate her fury. He still had his stinger out but it was up her dress so she couldn’t see the end of it. He grinned wickedly around it.~~

~~Suddenly, she felt the stinger’s “mouth” lapping and nuzzling at her opening, his fang-stalks tickling and teasing like fingers, nudging her lips apart and gently questing inside, making her throw her head back and squeal with delighted surprise.~~

~~He had curled the stalks back into the stinger and the thickened but blunted end was twisting this way and that to find the easiest angle for penetration. This wasn’t what she’d asked for. She reached down, intending to pull it away and reiterate her demands for a human encounter, but it felt amazing.~~

~~Dreverhaven pulled her arms up over her head with one hand, not for any kink but just to stop her interfering with his stinger. She needed to be reminded who was in control here. She seemed to like the restraint anyway. He smirked as he made the whole stinger as stiff as he was able to, creating a simulacrum of the human organ, then he forced the end upwards into her.~~

~~She leaned her weight back onto him with a sigh, her head lolled back into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed in ecstasy. It put her throat right under his nose, her bounding carotid tempting him to pull out and taste her right then but he waited. Patiently sacrificing immediate pleasure for greater rewards to come.~~

~~As he pushed further into her he enjoyed the resistance of her flesh and the noises she made. It was a slow and controlled entry, not the violent masculine thrust she’d demanded but, judging from the moan of appreciation, it was the right decision. He withdrew slowly and pushed inside again, deeper, harder and more of him. He was slippery with saliva and she was dripping wet with arousal so he thought she could take even more. He allowed himself to swell.~~

~~Sandra felt the peristaltic movement of the muscle as it undulated inside her. This was nothing like anything else she’d ever experienced. No man could ever imitate the rippling tentacle motion. She enjoyed the slippery strangeness of it for a while, allowing the sensation to set every nerve in her body vibrating with erotic electricity. Her legs were really wobbly now and she knew she’d soon be unable to bear her own weight. She also began to feel as though she wanted to be more of a participant. She wanted to move against him, take control of the rhythm. But she needed full use of her hips for that…~~

~~‘Backwards!’ she managed to choke out. ‘To the bed.’~~

~~He picked her up bodily and made to lay her down in the missionary position but lying back and thinking of England wasn’t her style. ‘No!’ she commanded. ‘Sit on the corner. Me on your lap.’ She tried a pelvic thrust and… ‘Ohhh YES! Just there. Ohhh GOD YES!’~~

~~But that still wasn’t quite right. She still had her back to him and she had an irrational desire to see what effect this was having on him. Maybe even, deep in a guilty corner of her heart, she wanted the emotional intimacy of face-to-face.~~

~~‘Lean back a little,’ she panted. ‘No, don’t pull out. Hold it still. Lean back. Further. Bit More. More’~~

~~She’d never tried this before. As he lay back, actually now flat on the bed, she lifted a leg and wriggled herself around a little, then the other leg and round a little further each time until she was straddling him face to face, her feet still on the floor. He looked shocked. She was strangely proud of that. She, Sandra Edwards had shocked the notoriously depraved Doctor Werner Dreverhaven. She stretched out her arms and he sat back up into them, moving his hands to her hips. It must be difficult for him to maintain what was essentially his tongue in that posture. But he didn’t seem to be in discomfort and it felt incredible. She didn’t know why she was bothering about how _he_ felt, they both knew that tonight was all about her. It had been intoxicating to issue commands to this man and have them obeyed. She risked her luck by testing her power again. ‘Pick me up,’ she breathed hoarsely. ‘Take me to the chair.’~~

~~He adjusted his hold so that his hands were underneath her buttocks. She couldn’t explain why that move should make her gasp like an _ingénue_ when she was impaled on his massive stinger like that, but the sudden touch of his hot fingers on that part of her flesh sent a tight shiver up through her spine.~~

~~Dreverhaven in turn, was staggered by her responsiveness. His grip tightened and he stood up, easily taking her weight as he strode across the room. He loved that she wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. And that sound that she made with the bounce of his gait was exquisite. The chair was generously upholstered, with finials to the back uprights that she grabbed as soon as they touched down, but it was armless allowing her to make her own “hilt” close to where it would have been naturally. He felt a pique of annoyance that she wanted a more human experience and an unfamiliar pang of inadequacy that she had to contrive it for herself.  She began to ride him again, rhythmically sliding herself back and forth on his lap, up and down the impossible length of him, steadily increasing the tempo, working on him, using him, until…~~

~~‘The fangs, now, use your fangs,’ she yelled. ‘Harder. Oh God, yes, that’s right. Hurt me, you bastard.’~~

* * *

~~Dreverhaven sat alone at his dressing table mirror, staring at his stunned face. Fortunately, the superglue had worked and she was still human, but he’d had to drink while still inside her, she had clamped down so hard. It hadn’t been easy to get his healing blood right to the site of the wounds, he’d been so deep inside her at the time. In fact, he hadn’t been able to pull out until he’d drunk enough blood to weaken her internal muscles and by that time, he was near-delirious himself from the taste of her ecstasy.~~

~~His hadn’t been the shuddering, thrashing climax that she’d screamed out, cursing his name… But tasting pump after sweet, surging pump of her biochemical afterglow while she gripped him too tightly for withdrawal had been the single most erotic sensation of his unlife. He wanted more. And he knew, damn her, that she was the only one who could give it to him.~~

~~He removed his human façade with shaking fingers and got into bed beside the unconscious Sandra. He was a doctor after all, and if he couldn’t save this girl, his portal to human sexuality – his old kingdom, then no one could.~~

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daren't actually delete in case I lose my precious hits and comments, so have struckthrough it all. Sorry.


	7. And What If It Weren't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the Dreverhaven/Sandra sex scene rejigged for Eichhorst as requested. It was slightly more involved than simply using find and replace for the names because (my) Dreverhaven is taller and more muscular than Eichhorst (among other issues). Please let me know if I haven’t caught every reference to the previous protagonist!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have clicked on these chapters out of curiosity to see how the eventual sex scenes for The Many Lives Of Sexta Sertorius and Eventually Love might look, don’t be put off because:  
> 1\. This was rushed and I can do much better than this.  
> and  
> 2\. I don’t believe Quinlan would do it like this. (For that matter, I don’t believe Eichhorst would either but hey-ho!)

* * *

Sandra Edwards and Thomas Eichhorst stood facing each other. She was expectant and he looked, unbelievably, a trifle nervous. He was holding a small tube of superglue, which she snatched from his hand, saying, ‘Let me do it.’ There was a glare-filled pause from him, prompting her to add, ‘Please, Mr Eichhorst.’ She knew she wasn’t going to get an invitation so she nodded encouragingly at him and smiled.

‘Go ahead,’ she prompted, but his lips remained firmly compressed. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ she taunted.

He snarled and thrust his stinger in her face, forcing her to catch the glistening muscle or have it thrash about her head. She wrestled it for a moment, trying to get a purchase on its slippery surface but she couldn’t restrain it sufficiently with one hand to allow her to perform the delicate task with the other. She turned her back to him and tucked the stinger under one arm. With both hands free, she recklessly removed the lid of the glue with her teeth and used the free hand to steady each pedipalp in turn and apply a tiny drop of adhesive to the fang aperture. She blew on the ends to speed up the drying process and watched delightedly as they quivered in her cool breath.

She stroked the stinger tentatively, feeling the corrugations on the organic surface move beneath her fingers. It was quite smooth otherwise…and hot like the rest of him. She gave it a squeeze, testing its hardness. The thickening at the bifurcation was solid but the rest of the length yielded to pressure.

Eichhorst must have been able to detect her disappointment because he shortened the appendage rapidly, pulling her, still clinging onto the end, towards him. This had the effect of simultaneously increasing the diameter and turgidity of the organ dramatically.

She gave the end a grateful little kiss and released it for Eichhorst to suck back into his mouth.

‘What was that for?’ He seemed genuinely perplexed by the gesture.

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I suppose I thought the situation called for a bit of romance.’

‘Romance?!’ he scoffed.

‘Mm,’ she nodded. ‘Romance. You know, a touch of human passion.  Now give it a try…see if you can squirt the plugs out.’

Eichhorst bundled her unceremoniously into the bathroom. There were shouts of protests and fist-hammerings but he didn’t want her to watch him massaging his stinger to see if the glue-plugs kept the worm-infested ejaculate inside. She could be so brazen about things. He felt instinctively that she should show more innocence and deference at that age. Had he ever been that young? Or that brash? He certainly hadn’t ever been as libidinous.

The glue held. The worm prophylaxis worked, at least in this setting. Whether it worked in-vivo was yet to be tried.

The noisy dissent from the bathroom had quickly subsided into what he thought was sullen silence but in fact, Sandra had been thinking.

‘When you enter me,’ she called out. ‘Take me like a man.’

‘What…you mean… anally?’ he replied, opening the door and looking at her in astonishment. ‘This is part of my mouth we’re talking about.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Although…does that mean it’s off the table, then?’ She sounded deflated. ‘I’d heard such stories about continental men.’

‘Do your English boys not enjoy that? Huh, you’d think with the way they talk…Oh well…Not off the table but a negotiation for another time.’

She brightened instantly, making him reconsider the hitherto unconscionable.

‘No,’ she clarified. ‘I meant…the first time…don’t slither into me slowly like a snake, take me as if you were a man – with a thrust. And no fangs – at least not until I tell you.’ She grinned impishly.

There was more shocked silence from Eichhorst. He’d dearly love to hurt her, wipe that smirk off her face and teach her something about the kind of man he used to be, but tonight he was going to be tasting _her_ pleasure and he needed to maximise her enjoyment of the experience.

She led him by the hand to the full-length mirror and then turned her back to him. He pulled her tight to him with one hand and began to unzip her dress with the other but she stopped him with a surprisingly soft little, ‘N-no, Thomas.’

He looked a question at her through the mirror and she explained more boldly, but too rapidly, as if she didn’t trust her voice. ‘You’re dressed. I’m dressed.’

He looked puzzled again. ‘But, how...?’

She took his hands and guided them inside her skirt and up her thighs to her panties. Oh, right…Well, he could take it from here.

Sandra felt him hook a thumb inside each strap and gradually lower himself to his knees, taking the underwear with him. He waited, crouched close behind her for a time, his hair tickling her naked skin and his stinger making a fabulously bestial growling sound in his throat. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see what he was doing via the mirror, enjoying the feeling of vulnerability.

He could hear her increased heart rate - his cue to extend his stinger ever so slowly and make contact with her leg. He stood up, sliding his hands around her waist while the stinger end remained where it was. She leant against him. His sinewy body felt hot and hard against hers. He hadn’t retracted the stinger-fangs yet and they pricked and needled at the skin, threatening puncture but without drawing blood. He pushed the end of the drinking channel against her flesh and it sucked gently while the pedipalps wrapped themselves around her leg in a kind of hug.

Then he began to trail his stinger, maintaining the gentle suction on her skin, lazily up the inside of her leg. It seemed firmer now and she could feel the muscle pulsing with the soft sucking motion. Higher and higher he drew the stinger forcing her to spread her legs to accommodate its thickness until she was not only quivering but almost weeping with anticipation. Then the sense of it disappeared, making her cry out in frustration. Her eyes flew open and she glared at Eichhorst, unable to articulate her fury. He still had his stinger out but it was up her dress so she couldn’t see the end of it. He grinned wickedly around it.

Suddenly, she felt the stinger’s “mouth” lapping and nuzzling at her opening, his fang-stalks tickling and teasing like fingers, nudging her lips apart and gently questing inside, making her throw her head back and squeal with delighted surprise.

He had curled the stalks back into the stinger and the thickened but blunted end was twisting this way and that to find the easiest angle for penetration. This wasn’t what she’d asked for. She reached down, intending to pull it away and reiterate her demands for a human encounter, but it felt amazing.

Eichhorst pulled her arms up over her head with one hand, not for any kink but just to stop her interfering with his stinger. She needed to be reminded who was in control here. She seemed to like the restraint anyway. He smirked as he made the whole stinger as stiff as he was able to, creating a simulacrum of the human organ, then he forced the end upwards into her.

She leaned her weight back onto him with a sigh, her head lolled back into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed in ecstasy. It put her throat right under his nose, her bounding carotid tempting him to pull out and taste her right then but he waited. Patiently sacrificing immediate pleasure for greater rewards to come.

As he pushed further into her he enjoyed the resistance of her flesh and the noises she made. It was a slow and controlled entry, not the violent masculine thrust she’d demanded but, judging from the moan of appreciation, it was the right decision. He withdrew slowly and pushed inside again, deeper, harder and more of him. He was slippery with saliva and she was dripping wet with arousal so he thought she could take even more. He allowed himself to swell.

Sandra felt the peristaltic movement of the muscle as it undulated inside her. This was nothing like anything else she’d ever experienced. No man could ever imitate the rippling tentacle motion. She enjoyed the slippery strangeness of it for a while, allowing the sensation to set every nerve in her body vibrating with erotic electricity. Her legs were really wobbly now and she knew she’d soon be unable to bear her own weight. She also began to feel as though she wanted to be more of a participant. She wanted to move against him, take control of the rhythm. But she needed full use of her hips for that…

 ‘Backwards!’ she managed to choke out. ‘To the bed.’

He picked her up bodily and made to lay her down in the missionary position but lying back and thinking of England wasn’t her style. ‘No!’ she commanded. ‘Sit on the corner. Me on your lap.’ She tried a pelvic thrust and… ‘Ohhh YES! Just there. Ohhh GOD YES!’

But that still wasn’t quite right. She still had her back to him and she had an irrational desire to see what effect this was having on him. Maybe even, deep in a guilty corner of her heart, she wanted the emotional intimacy of face-to-face.

‘Lean back a little,’ she panted. ‘No, don’t pull out. Hold it still. Lean back. Further. Bit More. More’

She’d never tried this before. As he lay back, actually now flat on the bed, she lifted a leg and wriggled herself around a little, then the other leg and round a little further each time until she was straddling him face to face, her feet still on the floor. He looked shocked. She was strangely proud of that. She stretched out her arms and he sat back up into them, moving his hands to her hips. It must be difficult for him to maintain what was essentially his tongue in that posture. But he didn’t seem to be in discomfort and it felt incredible. She didn’t know why she was bothering about how _he_ felt, they both knew that tonight was all about her. It had been intoxicating to issue commands to this man and have them obeyed. She risked her luck by testing her power again. ‘Pick me up,’ she breathed hoarsely. ‘Take me to the chair.’

He adjusted his hold so that his hands were underneath her buttocks. She couldn’t explain why that move should make her gasp like an _ingénue_ when she was impaled on his massive stinger like that, but the sudden touch of his hot fingers on that part of her flesh sent a tight shiver up through her spine.

Eichhorst in turn, was staggered by her responsiveness. His grip tightened and he stood up, easily taking her weight as he strode across the room. He loved that she wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. And that sound that she made with the bounce of his gait was exquisite. The chair was generously upholstered, with finials to the back uprights that she grabbed as soon as they touched down, but it was armless allowing her to make her own “hilt” close to where it would have been naturally. He felt a pique of annoyance that she wanted a more human experience and an unfamiliar pang of inadequacy that she had to contrive it for herself.  She began to ride him again, rhythmically sliding herself back and forth on his lap, up and down the impossible length of him, steadily increasing the tempo, working on him, using him, until…

‘The fangs, now, use your fangs,’ she yelled. ‘Harder. Oh God, yes, that’s right. Hurt me, you bastard.’

* * *

Eichhorst sat alone at his dressing table mirror, staring at his stunned face. Fortunately, the superglue had worked and she was still human, but he’d had to drink while still inside her, she had clamped down so hard. It hadn’t been easy to get his healing blood right to the site of the wounds, he’d been so deep inside her at the time. In fact, he hadn’t been able to pull out until he’d drunk enough blood to weaken her internal muscles and by that time, he was near-delirious himself from the taste of her ecstasy. 

His hadn’t been the shuddering, thrashing climax that she’d screamed out, cursing his name… But tasting pump after sweet, surging pump of her biochemical afterglow while she gripped him too tightly for withdrawal had been the single most erotic sensation of his unlife. He wanted more. And he knew, damn her, that she was the only one who could give it to him.

He removed his human mask with shaking fingers and got into bed beside the unconscious Sandra. He didn’t doubt himself. He knew he could save this girl, this portal to the last realm of human experience that his immortal nature had denied him.

* * *

 

 


End file.
